


Derivative Melodies

by Xenovia



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, I don't have a clear opinion on how the apotheosis works okay sue me, Reference to injuries/death from the show, Sam has rights but its only because he's infected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenovia/pseuds/Xenovia
Summary: While the rest of The Hive spreads to infect the outer population, Two forgotten souls remain singing in the Bunkers below Hatchetfield.
Relationships: Charlotte/Sam (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Derivative Melodies

**Author's Note:**

> Look. If the Meteor didn't kill everyone fully in Let it Out then there's no way Hidgens fully killed Sam and Charlotte. They're still in his house and they aren't paying rent. (If that is disproved in canon..... don't tell me.)

It was quiet when they finally woke, though only in the physical sense. A million voices in their mind jumped into action as soon as they were aware, questioning and persistent. They ignored them for a moment, though it was impossible to shut them out entirely. 

They were still in the bunker, though there was no sign of how long they’d been lying there. The floor around them was bloodied, red specifically- not just their own. 

The last clear moments were a gunshot, a fact which they broadcast to everyone else. Several members of the hive shared their own memories of the scene. The Professor had entered with a gun, shot them, then retreated upstairs. Most of the others had long since been infected. The knock must have had their body out of use for a good few hours, they still struggled to properly remember it. 

They readjusted, surveying the room. One other unconscious figure remained, guts still spilling from their body and a fresh bullet wound in their head, dripping blue down past their face. Someone in the back of their mind recoiled at the sight, almost making them turn away, but they weren’t about to acknowledge his feelings towards the situation. He didn’t matter any more. 

They shook their head and refocused their vision, noticing the sunglasses had snapped and fallen from their face. The world seemed a little off as they sat, waiting. The bullet had thrown them out of character, so they tried quickly to slip back into their role. They searched the memories of their host, locating the key pieces of information to bring them back. 

_Sam, 35, Male._ He searched recent memories briefly. ... _Kind of an Asshole. Police Officer. Cheating on his wife._

‘Sam’ looked over as the other figure began to wake, he searched further till it clicked in his shared memory. _This was the wife._

He’d almost been disappointed when he took on that body. He was one of the first infected, killed by a falling beam in the theatre and infected by the woman he was there with. It was instantly clear that this man wasn’t any kind of hero. 

But there was no choice involved in what role he would get to play, so he ran with it. He’d adjusted, found ways to hide his injuries, and slipped back into society unnoticed. He’d rooted around in this man’s brain for anything that could advance stories and bring new minds into their performance. His wife was one he’d been determined to bring in, he could already tell how their story would go. There were so many possibilities, he just needed the perfect songs. And why not fuck around with her friends while at it? 

That plan hadn't worked as well as intended, based on his current situation.

“Charlotte?” he asked. She nodded, blinking the blue blood out of her eyes as it dripped once more. She looked bedraggled, but not out of commission. She seemed angry, having had time to acknowledge him getting shot before she was taken out. 

“We need to return.” she said, standing. “It’s been too long.” He followed her lead and let his mind fade out for a moment as he heard extra voices entering the conversation. 

_“Host Paul Matthews, all units headed to_ _Clivesdale_ _.”_ He heard a cacophony of voices, some that he specifically recognized and some that he could tell his host recognized. The one speaking was a man he briefly saw, friends with Charlotte. 

_“Host Samuel Morgan”_ He responded _“Currently on the edge of town.”_

_“Meet with us as soon as possible”_ Paul continued _“No signs of human life remaining in_ _Hatchetfield._ _Any survivors crossed over to the next town.”_

The two of them looked at each other to confirm and continued to the door at the edge of the room. Sam grabbed at the edges but couldn’t get it to move. There was no handle, so Charlotte tried to claw at the hinges. He looked round, but there was no other exit point. The house was truly a fortress. There was no way out of that room. 

In a last ditch effort, Sam slammed his body at full force against the door. All that succeeded in was damaging his shoulder. He beat his fists against the metal violently, bloodying his knuckles. He heard Charlotte’s voice enter his mind, contacting the Hive. 

_“Host Charlotte Morgan. The professor, is he there?”_ A voice cut in, louder than the others. He didn’t fully recognise it, but Charlotte seemed to. " _Your bunker won’t open.”_

_“Host Henry Hidgens. It’s possible the explosion cut out the electricity to the Northern end of town, all doors will have automatically locked as a security precaution. They need a voice code and pin to reactivate.“_

_“Return here and open them.”_ she said, aggressively. 

_“I cannot do_ _that,_ _I have already begun my approach to_ _Clivesdale_ _.”_ He stopped answering after that point, though Charlotte continued to berate him. The other Hive members did not intervene or tell Hidgens to return. Sam slid down against the door, sitting as Charlotte continued to argue. 

“I guess we stay here for now.” He spoke openly, for no reason other than breaking the silence that had formed. 

“I guess so.” she said, mimicking his pissed off expression. “Of course we miss our biggest number. All I wanted was a role.” 

“We have roles.” 

“Nothing worthwhile.” she said, seeming genuinely hurt. 

With nothing else to do in the darkness, Sam began to think. Not in the usual way, but in a way that almost felt too private. He prodded and poked at the memories, trying to find out what it was that made this guy tick. There was some fun stuff there, little plot points he hadn’t touched on yet. He could see Charlotte listening in. 

He continued, wondering if there was untapped potential in these plots. 

He’d already played up the career. Warping his arrogance and abuse of power into irony, finding joy in causing terror. He’d utilised the lack of trust between him and his wife, stringing her back and forth until she was too lost to think straight. But digging deeper was intriguing. 

There were tiny glimmers of hope in that man’s mind. A part of him that wanted to be a better person, a part that got pushed out of the way to make room for more drunken nights and women he met in town. But the hive looked further than that, and saw that there was love once, a proper connection. But there were too many steps in the wrong direction, that even attempting to make it better would be a big waste of effort. He’d always known about Ted, why bother fixing something that’s clearly broken? It was easier to find comfort somewhere else, keep away from the house so he could pretend he was oblivious. They didn’t have time to address it all, and it wasn’t worth exploring. 

The Hive almost buzzed with excitement as they uncovered more information. 

Sam found himself slipping back into the role he’d played before. There was no murderous intent, no manipulation. Just a terrible person who’d made a lot of mistakes. At the back of his mind, there was a reaction. The corpse’s guilt trickled into his own consciousness. He knew he’d done wrong, having his entire past laid out before him, but he knew he’d never planned to fix anything. 

And there was a story there. 

Sam could see it in Charlotte’s eyes as well. These creatures, these people, there was something there. There was nothing else to focus on, no need to infect anyone else. Everyone in the room was already a part of the performance. He’d take those feelings and stretch them, give them an arc, give them closure. 

At it’s core, the Apotheosis just wanted a show. Nobody ever said who had to be the leads. 

Sam was the one who started singing first, quiet, a soft reprise of something he’d sung earlier in the day. But there was no dark tinge to it, no hidden plan to strike when the time was right. Just a gentle melody. He stepped forward, taking her hand in his. 

They started a slow movement, neither quite leading the other. Beginning to twirl round the bunker as he continued to sing. Sam skidded on the damp floor as he stepped backwards, Charlotte caught him before he fell back, her voice finally joining the harmony as she wrapped her arm around him again. 

It wasn’t quite them, and it wasn’t quite the Apotheosis. It was a glimpse, a fabrication of what could’ve been if things had gone differently. A performance for nobody but themselves. Their lyrics were personal, digging deep into the memories of their hosts. They dragged up emotions that the real couple would’ve never addressed, weaving a vocal narrative of betrayal and longing. 

They stopped, foreheads pressed together, two shadows of people holding eachother. They could hear the rest of the Hive beginning a new number, moving in sync, far away in Clivesdale. But the two of them remained, cold and dead and clutching at any semblance of feeling they could find. Sam could see a warmth in her eyes that looked almost human. He held a bloody hand to her face, cradling it for a moment. 

In the back of his mind he felt a quiet sad acceptance, as if the voice in his head was finally happy to hand over the reigns. He smiled as he and Charlotte began to move again, starting to sing another verse. 

Their collective mind raced as the possibilities appeared to them. They could take this couple, bend their story, keep searching for those emotions. This Bunker would be their stage, and they’d perform as long as they desired. 

They ignored the rest of the Hive and their songs about Inevitability, as they moved in tandem across the darkness. 

They had a far more personal story to tell. 

And they had all the time in the world to get the ending right. 


End file.
